Orlock vs Biscuit
by Khaos2511
Summary: 10 years after the infamous serial killer "Biscuit" murdered his family, Orlock pursues him to his evil lair. What madness will unfold?


It was another gloomy day in Mother Russia. The clouds were a dark grey, and the biting wind was piercing Orlock's long coat, turning his nips into diamond cutters. As he walked down the boardwalk back towards the city, his mind wandered off to simpler times. Back when he would wake up to the warm smile of his beloved Peggy. Back when he would walk downstairs to a piping hot cup of coffee waiting for him at the table where his two sons would be eating their breakfast before the bus came to sweep them off to another day of school. It had been three years since the incident, but lately Orlock had found his mind wandering back to those times where he was truly happy.

Just then, the wind picked up and a strong, chilled gust snapped him out of his daydream. A damp newspaper clung to his ankle, as if begging to be read. Reaching down, Orlock picked up the pieces of paper and smoothed them out. The date was February the 19th. How fitting that he should get his revenge on his and Peggy's 10-year anniversary. Scanning the front page, he saw that there had been another murder in the outer suburbs of the city. Orlock disgustedly crumpled up the paper and threw it into the freezing waters of the North Pacific. In the three years since the murder of his family, the serial killer who went by the name of, "Biscuit", had struck another fifteen times. Each time he left clues to his identity yet there had been no progress made by the police. However, the clues did not fall on deaf ears. It had taken three years, but Orlock had finally narrowed the list of possible suspects down to one Mr. Benjamin Austerlitz. Having written down "Biscuit's" home address, he tucked his Makarov PMM Pistol into his belt and set off to finally get his revenge.

It had taken four hours to reach the outer section of the suburbs where Biscuit lived. By the time Orlock stepped foot on the uneven cement streets that made up the roads of the slums, a good inch of snow had fallen. "As if it weren't already cold enough," he grumbled under his breath. He had been debating on the subway ride over whether or not to knock on the door and shoot Biscuit on the spot or try to break in and sneak up on him. In the end he decided it was better to break in since it would leave a less likely chance that a witness would see him. Although, on this street, he doubted any of the police would believe the crack whores or hobos anyways. As he cut through an alleyway and came out on the other side, he stopped to gather his surroundings. He was on a street that led to a dead end. To his right led to the stairs that would take him to the subway and get him the hell out of this dirty neighborhood. A little ways down the street on his left was a brothel and a little further down the road were a few houses. The street hit a dead end at the very end of the road and sitting directly in his path was a little rundown house that looked like it was about to collapse in on itself. It was this house that his target hid himself away in. It was no wonder the guy hadn't been caught. Who would suspect a guy crazy enough to live in a shit heap like that?

Orlock slowly opened the creaking metal gate as to make as little noise as possible. There was no light coming from any of the windows but there was a small grinding noise coming from somewhere below the house. "Most likely holed up in the basement," thought Orlock to himself. As quietly as he could Orlock snuck around to the back of the house and gently twisted the doorknob. To his surprise, the door was unlocked, and he slipped inside. Carefully, he slid the pistol out of his belt, and switching the safety off, crept towards the open door that lead to the depths of the house.

When he reached the open door, the grinding noise had intensified to a deafening screech. Getting down on his stomach, he was just able to peak between the railing and the stairs into the basement. The cement walls were decorated with pictures of what Orlock could only assume were past and future victims. On the right side were pictures marked with a giant red "X". It was on this wall that he saw a picture of his family. However, there was a part of the picture torn off. Sure enough, his suspicions were answered when he looked over to the left wall and saw himself on the missing portion of the picture. On the opposite side of the basement was the shadow of a man hunched over a spinning whetstone and sharpening a black and white checkered Katana.

Sliding back to his feet and swallowing the lump of fear that had grown in his throat, Orlock began to move down the old wooden staircase. Palm sweaty and hand shaking, he reached the end of the stairs and raised his weapon. As his foot came off of the last step, a loud creak came with it. Just then the whetstone stopped spinning and Biscuit spun himself around, an alarmed look on his face. This was it; this was the time for Orlock to get his revenge. All he had to do was pull the trigger and he would send this scumbag to the depths of hell. It would be so easy. All of this was running through Orlock's mind. So then why? Why couldn't he pull the trigger? Instead, he just stood there, staring wide-eyed at Biscuit, paralyzed with fear. "This is the moment you have been waiting for, stop being a pansy and just pull the god-damned trigger," he pleaded with himself.

Realizing that Orlock was frozen, Biscuit's alarm faded away replaced just as quickly with an eerie grin. Clutching the Katana in his right hand Biscuit got up off of his stool and began to stroll towards the paralyzed Orlock. "You know, it is rare for my prey to come seeking me," he purred. "Usually I have to take the long trip into the city in order to find them." Biscuit had covered about a third of the distance it would take to reach Orlock. Spinning the Katana in his hand, he continued to walk towards him at a snail's pace. "You have saved me the trouble of hunting you down. You were always the one that got away. You should have died with that bitch and her pups that night." At the mention of his wife and children, a fire began to rise in Orlock's stomach, slowly bringing him out of his daze. Biscuit didn't seem to notice and continued his taunting. "Look at you," he chided. "You thought you would be a big man and come take care of me yourself. Instead you are standing their pissing your pants at the mere sight of me." By this point he had made his way across two-thirds of the room.

As he reached the spot Orlock was standing, he raised the katana just under Orlock's chin and tilted his head up, opening a small cut where the point of the blade had touched. "Chin up though lad, you'll be joining your gal soon enough." Slowly, Biscuit raised the katana to an angle above his shoulder. "Now don't squirm," whispered Biscuit. "I like a clean cut."

The blade came crashing down hard in a nice clean arc. It was then that Orlock snapped back to life. Just as the blade came centimeters away from his neck, Orlock dove to the side. He felt a sharp pain in his left ear as he rolled back up onto his feet. The right side of his head felt somehow heavier though he didn't have the time to dwell on it. He quickly spun around and raised his gun towards Biscuit just in time to see the maniac lunge at him with this katana pointed straight at his heart.

_**BANG**_! The katana stopped inches from his chest. In front of him stood biscuit, frozen and wide-eyed as blood trickled down from a spot on his forehead right between his eyes. The katana fell to the floor with a loud "clang" and Biscuit shortly thereafter. Looking down, Orlock saw an ear laying a few inches away from where Biscuit had fallen. He realized that it was his own. It was no wonder he felt a warm trickle running down the left side of his neck. Though with the amount of adrenaline pumping though his veins it was a miracle that he even felt that.

Twenty minutes later Orlock found himself sitting in a daze in the back of an ambulance as paramedics held gauze tightly against the side of his head in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Apparently some of the neighbors had heard the gun shot and had called the police. "Biscuit", or Benjamin Austerlitz, had been shipped out to the local morgue and the police declared there to be enough evidence to call the case of the serial murders to a close. Orlock was treated as a local hero for ridding the city of such a danger.

A few days had passed since his confrontation. Sitting in front of the family grave, Orlock began to tell his tale to his wife and kids. Although it could not bring them back, the revenge was able to at least fill a part of the hole that had been left within him. Perhaps now things could go back to the simpler times they once were. He reached up and felt the side of his head where his ear used to be. It was sore and it had become a lot harder to hear. However, Orlock couldn't help but smile. After all, an ear was a small price to pay for happiness.


End file.
